English, Not the language, the ranger
by Sheo
Summary: My attempt an an Adventure / Comedy that'll feature my OC as the protagonist. More chapters on the way! Please read and review!


It was a night as black as pitch, the moon completely out of sight, even the stars stretched across the sky did little to combat the shroud of darkness that fell over the desert. A chill breeze blew across the dry plains of a quiet area south-west of the New Vegas region. The place was a damn plateu, open and far stretched, with a road cutting straight through the middle. Along that road, came a sputtering old prewar vehicle. A green army truck, repainted with the NCR's logos, reinforced with various shifty oddities, such as the charming steel bars fixed infront of the grill and headlights, adorned with classy little metal spikes, as if the Legion would run and hide at the sight of a beat-down piece of shit with trinkets welded on.

They hit another bump in the road, the driver, a young NCR Engineer who was just a bit on the pudgy side, seemingly oblivious to the potholes, rifts and deep fissures in the road, as he made no effort to avoid them, nor did he seem to care that with every jolt that shook the flatbed of the vehicle dufflebags slid, crashed into one another and spiked the tempers of a group of Rangers who were in a particularly bad mood that night.

One in particular, a young man with just a shadow of a beard on his chin, didn't seem to share in his fellow ranger's irritated attitude. Rather stoicly, the steely eyed youth raised a flask of whiskey to his lips, sipping it gently as he clutched his bag between his feet and did his best to avoid spilling the "premium" alcohol on his armor. Across from him, as they hit yet another 'pleasant' surprise, sat a fuming, aggitated middle aged Veteran Ranger with touches of gray coming through his hair. He stood up for a moment, gripping the side of the truck bed, slapping a palm down on the roof of the cab of the truck loudly.

"Watch where your fuckin' drivin, fat fuck!" he growled loudly over the engine. He didn't know, or care if the driver heard him, but as he sat back down things seemed to smooth out a bit. He turned his head sharply, his face a bit red with anger, at the young man across from him in the crowded truck, nonchalantly sipping whiskey like it was another day at the farm. He looked like a farmboy, he thought - With the sunburned cheeks, the light freckles. Yeah, Farmboy.

"Bumbling over buttfuck nowhere on the shittiest road in the republic, no fuckin' sleep in three days, and you're gettin' fuckin' drunk?" He barked loudly to be heard over the engine.

The youth's brow furrowed a bit in confusion as he leaned forward, yelling back "What?"

"Nevermind.." The high-strung ranger called back, leaning back against the side of the truck in resignation, already tired of the interaction.

"What?" The youth yelled back again, much to his dismay.

"I SAID NEVERMIND!" He exlaimed loudly. The other ranger seemed to hear him this time, leaning back again and taking a sip of whiskey. He shook his head in dismay with a sigh.

A loud laugh resounded from down the bench from an exceptionally young Veteran Ranger. He couldn't have been older than 26, sporting short, fuzzy dark brown hair and just a small patch of facial hair under his lower lip.

"What're you laughin' at, 'English'? Stupid fuck." The older ranger yelled over the sound of the engine.

English cracked a wide grin, leaning forward to make eye contact with the other ranger from down the crowded bench.

"At an old man who's cranky 'bout not havin' his scheduled naptime." He said with a chuckle. It was quickly apparent why he was called English. He spoke with a pronounced accent that placed his ancestry from somewhere in Europe.

His senior comrade shook his head again in quiet dismay, covering his eyes with his hand as they quietly drove onward.

"I am in no mood, for your goddamn shennanigans..." He said just loud enough to be heard over the truck.

English shrugged, his amusement quickly fading, he turned his attention away from his brother in arms, falling quiet into his own thoughts.

They went over another pothole, rattling them once more. Dejectedly, the stressed ranger didn't bother to chastise the driver again, and the truck was dead quiet as each of them were left to their own thoughts. Some of them were trying to catch a bit of sleep, propping their head up on their pack. Others simply figeteded or were lost in thought.

English caught himself reaching into his heavy duster, pulling out a small, faded postcard that had a plastic lamination that reflected the starlight a bit.

On the front was a casino, tower shaped with a large cocktail lounge at the top. The lucky 38.

"...Vegas." He muttered, before sighing through his nose and tipping his head up to look at the star spangled sky above. The older ranger, now calmed down a bit, noticed the postcard even in the poor light.

"Never figured you for a gambler, English." He said loudly, eyeing the youth.

English looked down, slowly cracking a grin. "Figure me for anything as long as it gets me off this damn truck."

"Haha, agreed... We should be there by morning. That's what the flyboy said over the radio not too long ago.."

The farmboy looked up from his flask. "Wha? We have vertibirds overhead?" He said, followed by a quick, disbelieving glance at the sky.

The older ranger scoffed. "What'd you think Kimball would ship his Veteran Rangers in goddamn ass smelling trucks to be ambushed?"

"Maybe." English butted in with a grin. "We ARE overstretched after all."

This drew a snort from the other man. "We're fighting a war with Legion and we skull-fucked them last time they tried to take the dam. Doesn't sound like overstretched to me." He said, which prompted English to stare at the older, more experienced Ranger as if he were an unintelligent bag of potatoes.

"Sure we can fight them on the damn on the front lines but that's because that's where Ol' "Wait-n'-see" is pooling all of our troops. But can we protect our supply lines? Counter legion raids that hit behind our front line? Sure we can HOLD the dam, but that doesn't mean bollocks if Caesar is 'dividing and conquering' all over our hindquarters, mate." English replied in a calm voice of logic.

"Bah." Was the only reply from the other ranger, who simply shook his head in the night. "Shut the fuck up and get some sleep, kid."

...

After a few hours of eternity, the truck lurched to a stop, the brakes loudly creaking in protest. English had already passed out. He was slumped forward, his chin resting on his collarbone. It was better lighting then. The sun was just under the horizon, the stars had already fled, and the sky to the east already beginning to turn a shade of colorful pink and red. Just a look at English would tell you that he was a tired soldier who was a long way from home. Dark rings and bags under his eyes told tales of sleep deprivation, and his pale, young features seemed aged, somehow.

The rangers around him began to stir, rummaging for their packs and duffel bags, checking to make sure they had everything they brought with them. The driver door of the truck swung open with the squeak that accompanied most unoiled prewar doors, the Engineer stepping out tiredly, with no time to rub his eyes as Major Knight was immediately in his face.

"Why've you stopped?" The Major immediately said, staring the trooper in the eye. It didn't sound much like a question, more like a thinly veiled 'You'd better have a damn good reason for this.'

The trooper appeared to hesitate, his nerves failing him a bit. "The rear vehicle in the convoy broke down a few miles back south-west, sir. Standing orders are to garrison Ranger squad Sigma here to go back and grab the squad stuck out on the road."

Major Knight sighed loudly. He hadn't been informed of this - Even though he was going to have to be the one putting it in the logbook and doing the paperwork. There goes lunchbreak.

"Right.. I'm assuming Jackson was the one who you reached on the com?"

...

Back at the rear end of the truck, the sleep deprived rangers of Sigma squad appeared to pay no heed or care to the troopers near the cab. The truck was stopped.

That means they were getting the hell out and getting some real sleep, come hell or high water. One of the rangers bumped English's hand as he scooted by, the postcard falling to the bed of the truck, the others just stepping around him, treating him more as a traffic cone or an obstacle in the way rather than a fellow ranger to be woken up. Except for the older Vet from early that morning. He placed his hand on the young soldiers shoulder, giving him a light shake.

"English."

He didn't stir. He shook his shoulder a bit harder.

"English. Come on bud. We've stopped." He said a bit louder. English appeared to stir, opening his eyes a bit. "Bill?" He said, blinking as he rubbed the corner of his eye. "That's one face I never want to wake up to again." he mused as the older ranger stooped down, picking up the postcard from the ground and sliding it into his pocket.

"Ha, ha, I'm laughing so hard. Stop with the bullshit and get yourself to registration." Bill retorted, giving him a pat on the arm to hurry him. They were the only ones on the truck at this point, the Major and Engineer were also nowhere to be found. English pulled himself up, hooking his fingers underneath his riot helmet and mask, holding it under his arm with one hand and slinging his rucksack over his shoulder with the other as he tromped off the truck, dropping his boots heavily onto the sand below, taking his first steps in the hot Mojave desert. At least it wasn't as hot as Baja, that was hell, thought the ranger.

They headed into the main building only to be stuck in the rear of the line of rangers at the desk, each filing in to give their name and rank to the Major for the logbook. The rangers of Sigma seemed rather callous, understandably grumpy, but at the same time they mused between each other, forming the 'line' into a rather jagged array of rangers socializing and filing into the tiny reception area. The troopers around them were warded off to the edges of the room to eye the 'squad'. The name squad, for the ranger outfit was rather decieving. They came in with 13 people with various ranks, from Ranger Recruit up to Veteran Ranger. The reception area was seeing it's busiest traffic yet, and the other two ranger outfits behind them hadn't even arrived yet.

...

"God damn, I never realized we had so many rangers..." a younger trooper with stubble lining his face commented in awe.

"That's Ranger Squad Sigma. They're just the tip of the iceberg of the rangers coming in from that ghost hunt in Baha." Said a Ranger Jackson who just so happened to waltz in from the door beside the trooper as he was speaking.

The young trooper glanced over at him, his eyes taken away from the gaggle of elite troops. "Are they taking over the Outpost?"

Jackson laughed loudly. "Might as well be. Might have to fight one for room in the barracks, they look pretty damn ready to kill someone to get some sleep..."

He glanced over at the trooper, who laughed a bit nervously. "Don't worry though... I think Sigma's the only one staying right now. The other poor bastards are rolling straight through to Camp Golf, only going to stop here to go through the checkpoint. They're one truck short, so they're going to have to come back for Sigma later."

The trooper nodded slightly, before wondering outloud. "We're going to have a mess of troops here... I don't think we can find something for everyone to do."

Jackson nodded with a grin. "Yeah. But don't worry. Rangers have a unique way of making the most mundane posts... Well.. Entertaining." He said, laughing as he turned to go back to his office, leaving the trooper to watch the rangers check in.


End file.
